


Monster & Mouse

by Mems



Category: Alien Covenant: Origins - Alan Dean Foster, Alien Series
Genre: Gen, Neomorph, Other, Xenomorph - Freeform, alien fixations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mems/pseuds/Mems
Summary: David keeps close eye on her, though she doesn't need his guidance. She’s a huntress by nature, and she takes to the wide world outside her birth place to prowl through the tall grasses and traverse over the craggy hills and deep down into the ravines that cut wounds deep into the earth.





	Monster & Mouse

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, more David fuckery.

She grows quickly under his care. The adolescent thing she was a week ago, she prowls the temple grounds now, more than accustomed to her new adult skin. Her new-born translucence quickly colors over to beautiful opaque obsidian, and soft dips of flesh harden over like armored steel, much to David’s satisfaction.

 

David keeps a close eye on her, though she doesn't need his guidance. She’s a huntress by nature, and she takes to the wide world outside her birthplace to prowl through the tall grasses and traverse over the craggy hills and deep down into the ravines that cut wounds deep into the earth. But she always comes back; she never ventures so far that she forgets him, and today she’s found something that piques her interest more than empty landscapes and salted seas crashing against abandoned shores.  

_Click, click,_ her organically mechanical sounds echo off the stone, guiding her as she stalks a rare creature that scuttles through the temple. David stays behind, watching the filthy little thing run along the walls as if attempting to hide. Long-tailed and rail-skinny, the rat had been living in the bowels of the temple, having managed to avoid the folly that befell its previous occupants. David would commend it, if not for its survival being a stroke of luck more than the rat's innate ability to persevere.  

 

Its minuscule paws scratch against the stone, frantic as instinct propels it forward. The rat is typical prey, ever aware that the predator follows, though it can't possibly understand the true nature of what hunts it.  She, after all, is something much, much more than a stray cat let loose upon the vermin—and the rat, hardly the sort of prey that his creation truly deserves. But, she's young. Her first tastes of the magnificent monster that she is shouldn't outshine her future accomplishments.

 

For that, David can forgive her for starting small.

 

She creeps up the wall, across the ceiling. _Click, click,_ they come again in rapid, eager succession until she’s on top of the squeaking menace trying so futilely to evade her. A tingle wonders its way up David’s spine as she hisses, and a proud smile stretches across his face when she pounces. Her hunt is rendered over in a matter of seconds; she's not the patience to _truly_ stalk, not like her predecessors, and she makes messy work of the rat. It's little more than a crimson spatter upon the weathered stone as she pulls back from it as if wondering if that’s it.

 

Her clicks resonate hollowly as she pushes her head into his outstretched palm. Her clawed digits flex, gore squelching between them. Idly, David reaches out, pushing his fingers through the muck and flicking the remnants to the floor.

 

"I know,” David coos. "You need something more, don't you?"

 

If she understands him, her frustrated growl is enough indication he's right. His artificial face curves into an amused smile. For something wholly above humanity, she's certainly so much like the human host she was born from. Her long-dead host was the same sort of impatience, driven by a certain need with little regard for anything else. Time is a relative thing, but David finds that for some creatures, time drags at a slow pace when it forces instinct into dormancy.

 

As she pushes herself against him, domed head nuzzling his hand, up his arm, settling against his chest where a heartbeat would be, he almost wonders if he shouldn't have kept Shaw's pitiable crew around. Would Vicars have made a suitable pet for her? Would she have produced something as beautiful as Shaw's progeny?

 

Well. Perhaps that's going a little too far--but he could admit Vicars had a certain charm to her before she got herself flattened.

 

David's chuckle resonates through the hall, and her head tilts in response. The mirth in his tone can't possibly translate; she's not so tainted by the condition of feeling like her host had been to do so. It is a self-indulgent ideation that perhaps on some level, she would find herself amused by his machinations over the death of his father's mistake.

 

Fingers slid over her head once more, she pushes into the touch in a move he would call feline if it wouldn't be insulting. Perhaps he would take the next day to venture farther from the temple and see if any other wildlife managed to escape his wrath, knowing that whatever he might find could never truly be what this darling girl deserves.

 

_Shame,_ David thinks. _There's none of her favorite prey to play with._

 


End file.
